The Rest of Her Life
by Kelly Kapoor
Summary: Her name was going to be Pam Anderson.


Pam Anderson. Pamela Anderson. What a ridiculous name to have. Its almost as bad as Julia Gulia. Maybe worse even, because of the image the name Pam Anderson conjures. It literally makes her shudder.

The bleached and teased hair that must feel like straw. The face painted with layers and layers of makeup. The enormous, gravity defying fake breasts barely contained within a small, thin layer of spandex.

It was so opposite of what she, Pam Beesly, is. She's never been a sex object. She's always dressed modestly and conservatively. She wears little makeup and spends less than a minute styling her hair. She's never been that concerned with looks, and she's certainly never gotten that kind of attention from men.

No one is ever going to take her seriously with the name Pam Anderson. She'll have to listen to jokes about it for the rest of her life. She used to work for a guy named Don Johnson and once met a Michael Jordan, and those guys constantly got comments about their names. At least those were respectable celebrities. They weren't famous simply for their fake breasts or for having a sex tape. They didn't feel shame for having the same name as a celebrity.

She keeps writing Pam Anderson over and over again on a pad of paper at her desk. Pam Anderson, Pamela Anderson, Mrs. Pam Anderson. Hoping that the repetition will somehow make her more comfortable with the name. It doesn't.

She pictures herself in the future, introducing herself to someone. "Hi, I'm Pam Anderson" she'll say. And even if they don't laugh or make a comment, they'll still give her a knowing smirk. It would be so embarrassing, and it would be for the **rest of her life**.

She spoke to Roy a few years ago about it, shortly after they'd gotten engaged.

"Roy, what would you think about me keeping my last name when we get married?"

"You're saying you won't take my name when we get married?"

"No, its not that. It's just……Pam Anderson? Isn't it a little obvious?"

"Yeah, I know. Its hilarious isn't it! I'll have my own little Pam Anderson! Wanna make a video?" Roy laughed for a couple of minutes and chased her around the room, tickling her, making sexual innuendos, and pretending to be Tommy Lee. Pam was not amused, and she never brought it up with him again.

When she filled up the entire pad of paper writing Pam Anderson, she stared at it and sighed. She glanced up from her desk and scanned the room, landing on Jim's familiar head of soft, shaggy brown hair.

He was turned slightly away from her, his head cocked to the side, pinching the phone between his ear and shoulder, talking to a customer. She listened to his voice and could hear that he was smiling. She heard him chuckle softly and she smiled to herself. He had recently gotten a haircut, and the stylist must be really good, because whoever it was had cut his hair so that it still curled up slightly around his ears and on his collar. She hated it when his other haircuts removed all those little curls and she had to wait a couple of months for them to grow back. Luckily Jim didn't get his hair cut very often.

As she stared at the back of Jim's head, she imagined burying her nose into his neck, feeling his hair on her cheek and forehead. She imagined his hair was so soft and that his neck was warm and smelled like fabric softener and sweet vanilla. Her fingers wrapping around the back of his neck, running them through his hair. Smiling into his neck and slowly parting her lips to graze them against the skin below his ear, her tongue just barely peeking out to find that he actually tastes like vanilla too.

Suddenly Jim was moving, hanging up the phone and swiveling in his chair. His eyes catch hers, making her blush instantly. Her eyes move away quickly and she pretends to be working. She can feel Jim's eyes on her for a moment longer before he turns to his computer screen to enter the sale he just made.

Pam picks up her pen and grips it gently, the way she does when she draws. Slowly and carefully, in a tiny space at the bottom of her paper, she writes Pam Halpert.


End file.
